Paul met his coming fate boldly enough. He did not evince any outward fear, although he must have known that death was hanging over his head.
Speaking in the Quadruco language, I appealed to Paul to confess his guilt, and prepare to meet his end; for, if I had had any doubt as to what his fate was to be, one look at Zolca’s face would have been sufficient to tell me. The fair valley, now a scene of desolation; the ruined houses; the wreck of what had been a flourishing and fruitful settlement, were there to witness against Paul.
In answer to my appeal Paul acknowledged his misdeeds, and owned that he could no longer be trusted.
I then made an appeal on his behalf, trying to explain, as well as I could in their language, that Paul had been led away by his desire to return to his own people, and that we should keep him a close prisoner until the return of Captain Hoogstraaten from the Abrolhos, who would take him away altogether.
My speech had no effect; I could see that in the faces of all present.
Zolca sprang to his feet and commenced a fiery oration, pointing to all the wreck and desolation around, which excited his audience to frenzy, and I wonder now that they did not rise and slaughter all of those of their own people who had gone over to the pirates. At the conclusion Zolca turned and asked me what to do. In reply I turned to those around, and asked them what punishment they decreed.
“Death!”
The whole crowd shouted the doom, but Paul never blenched, though the word seemed to ring and echo up the valley in a hundred reverberations.
There was silence for a moment.
“What death am I to die, Diedrich?” said Paul, without a tremor in his voice.